Antony N Britt (calls himself Nick, to be awkward) is the author of horror novel, Dead Girl Stalking – a page-turning tale that slaps you in the face when you least expect it. He lives in Walsall in a house full of CDs, videos, books and many unread pieces of paper which may hold the secret to eternal life, but are most probably pizza menus.

Ghost Stories: Tales from the Dead of Night

Meet …
Mark, who loves Alison, but must first get past her dead father.
Jessie and Tommy. In fear of what’s in the attic.
Colin. As a medium, he’s used to ghosts. It’s the living he needs to be scared of.
Alec, haunted by a tragedy which took place forty years ago. Now the past has caught up.
Karen and Matthew, locked in a manor house with the spirit of its sadistic former owner.
Irene. All she wanted was attention; now she wishes it would go away.
And meet Cara. Disturbed by the presence in her bedsit, and a bloodstain which keeps returning.

By the author of Dead Girl Stalking, Ghost Stories contains 20 tales from the dead of night which will have you frightened to turn off the light. A book best left face down, under the bed, so the spirits can’t escape.

The Sunday Roast – A Day at the Races … In My Local Supermarket

Horsing around.

I’m so blooming hungry, I could eat a horse. However, if I can’t get hold of a Findus Beef Lasagne, a bacon sandwich will have to do.

You really have to watch what you eat, these days. I like a lasagne. I do a mean one of my own, all made from scratch. However, if I felt a little lazy, I know I could always put my hands on one of those ready meals. Don’t particularly like them, but they serve a purpose. But things are not as they seem. According to mass hysteria, lasagne ready meals, in addition to containing cheese, peppers, pasta and many other unhealthy substances, now come with added, Champion the Wonder Horse.

Neigh, I kid you not. We’ve apparently been eating horse meat for ages. I never realised the reason until now why every time I trotted to the supermarket, I felt this urge to but a packet of oats.

And of course now we have the veggie brigade sitting all smug saying, ‘I told you so.’ Maybe, but I bet there are a few non-meat things which are dodgy. I don’t care. I’m meat eater and beyond redemption. I have every respect for vegetarians, it’s just not me. Mind you, there is one thing which annoys – those people who claim they are vegetarian but eat fish.

How the blooming hell is that being a vegetarian?

And now for somebody who couldn’t even find a horse.

So finally, we know it really is Richard III who’s been issuing spiritual parking tickets in a Leicester car park for years. What I want to know is how on earth did people actually forget he was there? I mean, they know the car park was built on the site of an Abbey and presumably records showed it to be his final resting place otherwise how would they have known where to look for him in the first place.

When they decided to build a car park on top of him, was it just an oversight? You can imagine the surveyors and their checklist.

1. Excavate large hole.

2. Lay tarmac and paint white lines.

3. Remove dead King of England.

4. Install pay-by-foot ticket machines.

And why do they call them pay by foot machines? I’ve never seen anybody pay by foot. You use your hands.

Sorry, I digress, but I still don’t see the need for fuss. They spend all that money and effort excavating the site to dig him up, now they’re talking about burying him again. Make your sodding minds up. And please tell me we’re not going to have the prospect of the taxpayer funding a state funeral. Don’t we spend enough on the royal leeches who are living without throwing money at dead ones.

What I found funny was the programme the other day which showed how a specialist has reconstructed the king’s face using scientific skills and technology.

Bollocks. They’ve just looked at the portraits of him. It’s not exactly hard to make an accurate reconstruction when you have a head start, if you forgive the pun.

Poor old Richard. I bet he didn’t envisage spending 500 years in a car park. I hope they gave him a disabled bay, what with having that hump.

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.” If Richard said that today, somebody would hand him Findus Beef Lasagne. Still, it could have been worse. They might have built a public lavatory on top of him, then rhyming slang term would have taken on a very literal meaning.

The poor dear.

Posh Spice, Victoria Beckham, the girl whose only talent is the ability to make millions without having any actual talent, posted an interesting tweet this week. She’s a little stressed. Referring to New York Fashion Week, she commented that it was the silly season where everybody goes a little crazy, or words to that effect as seen below.

No, Victoria, it isn’t the most stressful of times. Living in poverty under Tory Government cuts and not knowing if you’ll have a house this time next month … that’s stress.

We’ll fight them on the beaches.

Can’t remember where I read this but apparently, German schoolkids are studying the British seaside resort of Weston-super-Mere.

Yes, the town which has to be the worst seaside town I have ever visited, is being touted as a good indicator of British holiday fun and is now in German school textbooks.

Weston-super-Mere? I mean, the fact the town inserts the word, super into its name should be enough for them to be prosecuted under the trades description act. I went there once and that was enough for me. It has one attraction – the pier, and even that burned down and was out of action for a few years.

So why are we touting Weston as the hotbed of activity? A couple of possibilities. One, is to send the Germans somewhere nobody in the UK wants to go, and if they are there, we won’t have to worry about them nicking our deckchairs on the beaches we do like.

Second reason. They’ve waged war on us twice in the past hundred years. Promote this place as the high spot of summer activity and they’ll turn around and decide it might be better to invade Crete instead.

Just a theory.

Right, enough banter …

I actually write this on a Saturday and having just finished, I realised I need to do a bit of shopping. I’m out of burgers and lasagne. Therefore, I’m going to saddle up, race to the supermarket and gallop along the meat aisle. Fear not, I won’t be there fur-long.

Sorry about the jokes. I admit, they are a bit lame. Hmmm … I think this theme may have run its course.

4 Comments:

I think you should probably stay off the lasagne and the beef burgers. I hear Tesco meat balls are the dog’s bollocks; try those! I’ bough 4 pack of turkey mince from Aldi last week, I think that’s alright. Mind you I haven’t seen next door cat all week.

We should do a survey to see if our readers like these horsey jokes. A gallup poll perhaps? 😛

I think I’ll go back to smashing the myths published in the Sun newspaper, these horse meat jokes are getting repetitive…